Basically, I had a bit of a breakdown. Going home on the Thursday night plunged me into a huge dollop of depression, which isn’t exactly great at the best of times. I thought I could get over it, that it was a “bad day” thing, but the next day was actually worse, to the extent that I simply couldn’t face going home for the weekend. It was a real physical reaction, that I just couldn’t do it. So instead I went away for the weekend- went back to the house, sorted things there, got some clothes, and left again. I didn’t even wait for Herself to come home- I sent her a text message to let her know what I was doing.

I’m not proud of myself for that, not even slightly. It was completely unfair, unreasonable, and downright shitty. There are no excuses, no glossing over it – it was an utterly unutterably crappy thing to do to anyone, let alone a partner of five years, a friend of twenty years.

What it was, though, was a way to survive. If I’d stayed there for the weekend, I don’t honestly know what would’ve happened, or where I’d have ended up. Some people have called what I did cowardly – and fair enough, maybe it was. I can’t say I was honestly in my right mind. But at that point, where you physically and mentally can’t face going back somewhere, I don’t think “being in one’s right mind” is ever going to happen.

Again, I’m not proud of what I did. It had to happen, but I should’ve/could’ve done it one hell of a lot better.

So a lot’s changed since then, and I’m working on all the necessary changes. I don’t know how they’ll work out, I don’t know how any of it will work out. But I’m not going to put myself in that situation again if I can possibly help it.

[Comments on this post are now closed]

Now I wrote about it last year when National Express East Anglia decided to almost-double the cost of the trainfare overnight from £40 to £74, and ended up with a letter from NEEA telling me that oh yes, it’d been an error, and the prices would drop back down at the next revision.

Looks like that was a lie, too. Indeed, the price has now gone up, so a return ticket with travelcard cost me £80.80 That really takes the piss. I could’ve driven down, parked all day, and driven back for less than half that amount – the only reason I didn’t was that I wasn’t in the mood for navigating London and the M25.

On the (very minor) plus side, the trains are now a lot less busy than they were when I was using them on a daily basis a couple of years back. Of course, that just means that (in theory at least) NEEA will then try and gouge their remaining customers even more in order to maintain the same levels of income.

Anyway, I digress

The mouse was still alive, and Bob was going play with it. Psycho Cat, on the other hand, just looked on with disdain – it wasn’t tuna, he wasn’t interested. Hound was apparently slightly orbital about the presence of a New Furry Monster in the kitchen.

Next thing Herself knew, Bob and Psycho Cat had disappeared, and there was no sign of Mouse. She thought Bob had taken Mouse with him to continue ‘playing’.

Wrong.

We figured this might’ve been an incorrect assumption when we got up Saturday morning to find Bob standing guard around the kitchen units, and Hound sniffing around any time Bob wasn’t there. It looked like Mouse had escaped, and hidden himself somewhere.

We were out Saturday night, and there was no real sign of Mouse by the time we got back – except that cats were still lurking.

Today, Herself sent me a photo…

Mouse, hiding in the printer

Look carefully, and there the little sod is, hiding in the printer. Apparently Herself started printing something, the printer made some vile noises, and Mouse poked his head out to see what was going on. Psycho Cat at this time was on the windowsill just next to the printer, and did – as expected – absolutely nothing.

A seemingly short while ago, there was light in the sky ’til 10pm or so, and the chickens didn’t get put away ’til then.

Tonight they were in their coop and all locked up by half eight. Soon it’ll be seven, six, and they’ll be away before I’m even back from work.

Winter’s coming.

Pulling out in front of me was a truck with a load of topiary pigs. Yes, topiary pigs.

So half my journey home last night was spent looking at the arses of three green pigs.

Three Pigs Backsides

It’s not the best of photos – taken while waiting for traffic to sort itself out – but you get the idea.

I took a dollop of Piriton anti-histamine this morning, and all now seems to be fine again. Thank chuff.

Hound has decided that heavy rain equals Thunder, and skitters round the room to lay next to my side of the bed. I don’t mind this too much – she’s been really good this weekend on this score, without getting stressy and stupid, let alone trying to burrow through the wall as she has done on previous occasions. But she still makes enough noise to wake me up, which isn’t great. Saturday night we ended up moving into the living room again (for some reason one of Hound’s “safe places”) because it was proper thunder etc., and it’s easier to have her in there than down the side of the bed.

Sunday night we had heavy rain, so Hound came round to my side of the bed again. This time though it was Psycho Cat that was the pain in the arse – having got utterly soaked, he decided that the best way to warm up and dry off was to snug into the back of my knees, and then turn round repeatedly so that everything dried off evenly. It has to be said that there is little worse than being woken up by the sensation of cold wet cat fur in the back of your nice warm legs.

The little shit even then went back out again once he dried off and warmed up, and was whining again by 7am that he was cold and wet and why wouldn’t anyone do anything. I seriously wonder sometimes whether it wouldn’t be easier to just drown the little fucker and be done with it.

So all told